


You & Me & The Bottle Makes 3 Tonight

by misterkevo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1950s, 1950s Slang, 1950s Theme Party, Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor, M/M, Mentions of Canonical Abuse, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misterkevo/pseuds/misterkevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't wanna look like a square at Danny's bash so he's forced to ask that moldy fig Derek for help. Turns out the cat's more hip than Stiles thought. Pretty soon, the two are on the hook made in the shade. OR, Stiles accidentally takes Derek to a 1950s theme party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You & Me & The Bottle Makes 3 Tonight

Opening the door to his loft, Derek greets Stiles with a confused expression and a, “Why do you look like that?”

Stiles bites back a self-conscious frown.

“I don’t know, because God doesn’t give with both hands?” he offers, entering without waiting for an invitation. “Hello to you too, Derek.”

“I meant why are you dressed like that,” Derek amends.

There he has a point.

The clothes themselves – a flannel shirt and jeans – aren’t too unusual for Stiles. It’s the way he has them styled that’s different. His sleeves are rolled tightly up above the elbows, shirt tucked in and buttoned two-thirds of the way up, white undershirt peeking out at the top. The jeans are tighter than Stiles usually wears them and the cuffs are folded up. His hair is even different, slicked back instead of its usual spikes.

“You look like that kid from G _lee_ who wears the bowties,” Derek observes.

“Okay, we are going to come back to why the hell you know anything about _Glee_ , first of all,” says Stiles. “Second: it’s for a theme party. Danny likes his parties to have themes. This is supposed to be 1950s-themed. So actually Darren Criss is a compliment, thank you for that.”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, and Stiles wonders how someone can convey an eye roll with their tone of voice. “Why are you here?”

“Um. A favor?” Stiles asks with a nervous wince. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed but being the sheriff’s son means you can’t really get away with a fake ID in this town. So...”

“You want me to buy you booze,” Derek fills in.

The fact that he sounds more surprised than annoyed bodes well for Stiles, he thinks.

“Kind of? I mean, yeah. Yes. If – if you wouldn’t mind.”

For a full six seconds, Derek doesn’t say anything at all.

Finally, he says, “Fine. What did you need?”

Stiles drives them to the liquor store. He thinks it would look more conspicuous if he was waiting in the passenger seat for Derek to pass him a bottle of Fireball Whiskey. Plus this makes it harder for Derek to back out at the last minute.

“Is this a normal high school thing now?” Derek asks, staring straight ahead out the windshield. “Theme parties?”

“You really date yourself when you say stuff like that,” Stiles informs him. “Just FYI. And it’s not a high school party. It’s, uh. Sort of a gay party? I don’t know what you’d call it. Danny’s gay clique. Guys he’s met from The Jungle and, um, _other_ places.”

He catches Derek nodding out of the corner of his eye, gaze still fixed on the road. Stiles wants to be annoyed that Derek isn’t more shocked, considering Stiles has never officially confirmed that he swings with the rainbow crowd. Even a quiet, surprised ‘ _oh’_ would’ve been more satisfying than the way Derek takes this revelation in stride. But that’s not really fair and the guy is doing him a big favor right now so he lets it go.

“We’ll probably be the youngest ones there, actually,” Stiles continues. “Danny and me. It’s mostly college guys. Or older.”

“Is that a good idea?” Derek asks in an impartial tone. “If they’re older, they might … They expect things.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles replies. “So do I. Why do you think I’m going?”

The silence that follows isn’t surprising. The way Derek slams his door as he gets out at the liquor store, on the other hand, leaves Stiles puzzled. Thinking about It while he waits, Stiles wonders if Derek might genuinely be concerned about him. Given his own sketchy romantic past and their pseudo-friendship, it’s possible that this is Derek’s twisted version of looking out for Stiles.

This realization only ends up making Stiles feel even at more of a loss. Because if he’s right (and there’s no guarantee he is), what does he do with that knowledge?

It doesn’t take Derek longer than a couple of minutes. Obviously no one is going to card a guy who looks like Derek Hale. Beyond the facial hair and statue, his glare would be enough for Stiles to let him take the bottle for free. He climbs back into the Jeep without a word. Stiles pulls out of the parking lot, still unsure how to fix the mess he seems to have caused.

“Um. Hey. About what you said before,” Stiles begins hesitantly. “I…” He stops short of saying _I can take care of myself_. “I know how to be careful. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Great,” Derek replies, voice dripping with condescension. “Glad to hear it.”

“Well, you should be,” Stiles snaps. “Look, if you’re that worried, you can always come with me. It’s not really your type of crowd, but –”

“How do you know what my type of crowd is?”

Huh. Not the answer he was expecting.

“I… guess I don’t,” Stiles allows. “Did you want to come then?”

“I don’t need a pity invite, Stiles,” Derek murmurs. “You already got your bottle.”

“Derek. Have you ever known me to be the type of person who would give someone a pity invite?” Stiles asks. “ _Ever?_ No. Why do you think I would start now, with you?”

Somehow, this seems to convince Derek that he’s telling the truth.

“I don’t have a costume,” Derek points out.

Stiles laughs, “You’re wearing a white T-shirt, a leather jacket, and jeans that look like they’re painted on. Comb your hair back and you’ll look like a total greaser.”

And the funny thing is, once he does comb his hair back like Stiles suggested, he totally does look like a 1950s greaser. Very James Dean. Stiles vows to somehow take a picture before the night is over. For the purpose of showing the others, obviously.

The party is in full swing by the time they arrive, complete with actual swing music. He’d been afraid he was taking the theme thing too seriously. Apparently not. There’s boys in letterman sweaters and drag queens in poodle skirts. Some of the costumes are a bit liberal, like the boys in letterman sweaters and jockstraps and nothing else, but Stiles isn’t complaining.

He spots their host and tells Derek he’ll be right back. Danny is by the bar, decked out in an era-appropriate beige military uniform, complete with garrison cap. He gives Stiles a smile and the whiskey an appreciative nod.

“I see you brought your hot cousin.”

“Oh, yeah, I did,” Stiles says contritely. “Hope that’s okay.”

“I called him hot, didn’t I?” replies Danny. He passes Stiles a freshly-made drink. “The more the merrier, especially with this crowd. He’s likely to get swallowed whole by them, and I sort of mean that literally.”

It takes Stiles half a second to figure out what that means, and then he’s thinking about Derek and things being swallowed and why is it so loud in here? He didn’t know swing music could reach this volume.

“He’s not my cousin y’know.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out already,” Danny replies with an indulgent grin. “Derek Hale, right?”

“What, did all those WANTED posters last year give it away?”

“Pretty much,” Danny laughs. “But I figured he wasn’t your cousin before that.”

“‘Miguel’ probably wasn’t the best cover name,” Stiles reasons.

“That,” Danny says slowly, “and I don’t think a guy is supposed to look at his cousin the way he looks at you.”

Stiles chokes on his Dr. Pepper and Fireball whiskey, because that’s the kind of person he is.

“Ahh!” he moans, wincing at the dual burn of cinnamon and carbonation. In his nose. “Nuh-uh. Nope. Sorry. You’ve totally misread that situation.”

“You sure about that?”

 _Yes_ , Stiles wants to reply immediately. Because of course he’s sure.

This is Derek they’re talking about. _Derek_. Derek _Hale_ , who’s hated Stiles since… Well, he hasn’t hated Stiles in more than a year now. Possibly longer. But still, the guy takes every opportunity he can to smack Stiles around like… No, now that he thinks about it, Derek hasn’t employed any sort of physical violence on Stiles in a long, long time. If anything, he’s kind of _nice_ to Stiles now. Really nice. Buy you booze and make sure you don’t get molested by strangers at a party levels of nice.

“You just figuring things out now?” Danny asks, clearly too amused by the fish-out-of-water expression on Stiles’s face.

“What? Shut up. I gotta go.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” is Danny’s parting shot.

It’s possible Danny is an asshole.

Or maybe not. Stiles will figure that one out later. For now, he needs to find Derek. Because he abandoned him in the middle of this party full of strangers and he didn’t even want to come here in the first place. It would be rude to leave him hanging like that.

Getting back toward the door is a lot harder than going into the party was. It makes Stiles think of gingerbread houses and strangers who want to gobble up little boys, and the looks he’s getting from these guys in their late twenties and early thirties isn’t doing anything to abate those thoughts. Jesus, who let Danny throw this party anyway? Where the hell were his parents? Did Danny even have parents or did he simply hatch out of some ridiculously handsome gay egg?

He ends up finding Derek by the stairs, leaning up against a wall and yeah, okay, there’s definitely a fair amount of James Dean in him. One of the twinks, thankfully one wearing pants, is pressed up into Derek’s space. The guy is lucky Derek hasn’t ripped his throat out for that. Grateful for the opportunity to save Derek’s tail for once rather than the other way around, Stiles rushes up to slide an arm across Derek’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Stiles shouts over the pounding music. “This stud’s spoken for. You better beat feet, unless you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’. Dig?”

The dude blinks at Stiles.

“What?”

“This is my boyfriend,” Stiles says in staccato. “ _Fuck off_.”

The guy sneers, muttering something about Stiles being an asshole before moving on. Now Derek is staring at him, his expression hard to read in the dimmed light. It’s not annoyance at least, which means Stiles is two-for-two in not annoying Derek tonight. A personal best.

“What was that?” he asks.

“1950s slang,” Stiles replies evasively. “I did a lot of research. Because nothing gets guys hot’n’bothered quite like authentic terminology, am I right?”

“ _Stiles_.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs, “you looked like you needed a rescue.”

Did he? Derek didn’t seem annoyed by the dude. And there had to be some reason Derek would agree to come along knowing what kind of party it was. Did Stiles just cockblock him? That… He’s not exactly sure how to feel about that. He should probably feel bad, and yet he doesn’t.

They’re standing in awkward silence and Stiles’s hand is still resting on Derek’s lower back when a slower song comes on.

“So what, um,” Stiles stammers. “I mean, do you wanna…”

“Let’s dance.”

Derek’s got Stiles’s arm and he’s leading him into the crowd, to where a throng of guys are all slow dancing. Okay, dancing might be a bit of an overstatement. Slow grinding up on each other would be more accurate. Not that Stiles is complaining. Far from it.  If that’s what Derek has in mind for them, however, he’s not exactly sure how he feels about it and may possibly have to debate protesting.

“Right on, yeah,” Stiles mumbles as Derek’s hands find his waist.

Except when Derek said dance, he truly meant it. At least it’s real dancing with Stiles pulled in close, not middle school leave-room-for-the-Holy-Ghost kind of dancing. It’s nice. Dancing with Derek is nice. Stiles can at least admit that much. Not that there’s anything else to admit.

It’s a near-pathological need to pick apart every last detail of any given situation that drives Stiles to ask, “What was that look before?” Derek only blinks at him, so he elaborates, “When I told that guy I was your boyfriend. Because I don’t wanna salt your game, if you were interested.”

“I wasn’t,” Derek responds. “I’m not.”

“Okay then,” says Stiles. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Or, not good,” he backtracks. “I mean, it’s… I’m glad I didn’t mess things up for you. That’s good.” Then he notices Derek’s deepening frown. “Or not?”

With a shake of his head, Derek murmurs, “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“Better than the _never_ you used to understand me, though, right?”

“You’re all over the place,” Derek presses on. “You show up at my place asking me to do you this favor and invite me to come here but then you’re talking about – about how you ‘know how to be careful’…”

“Because I do!” says Stiles. “I know how to protect myself. After what Gerard did –”

“What?” Derek interrupts. “Wait – what did Gerard do to you?”

“When he attacked me,” Stiles reminds him. “I’m saying I know how to protect myself now. I’ve taken self-defense classes, and… what?”

“I thought…” Derek grins bashfully. “I thought you were talking about _being careful_. You know. When you’re _with a guy_.”

“Ohh – OH! Like with protection.” But, “Why do you care if that’s what I was talking about? Are you…” A smirk slides slowly across Stiles’s face. “Were you schemin’ on me, Derek Hale?” The scowl Derek meets him with is potentially lethal. “Hey, cool it, Daddy-o, I’m not tryin’a jump bad.”

“Stiles,” Derek says tiredly. “English. Please.”

“Fine,” Stiles says. “I think even you should understand this one.”

Then he lays one on him.

It’s actually far less dramatic than that, more gentle and hesitant. Stiles is sort of terrified that he miscalculated the whole situation until he feels Derek pressing back, needy but restrained. It’s only one kiss, because of course Stiles has something to say as soon as it’s over.

“Wait, so, why the hell would you agree to stay if you were…” His eyes widen as he realizes. “Oh my God. You were totally going to try and cockblock me, weren’t you?

“Maybe.”

Hard to argue with that plan now, so he doesn’t. What Stiles does say is, “How’s about you and me flee the scene so we can go play some backseat bingo instead?”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” asks Derek.

“If you think it means making out in my car,” Stiles translates, “then yes.”

With an indulgent smile, Derek replies, “Sounds far out.”

He takes Stiles by the hand, leading him easily through the crowd and out the door

Thrumming with excitement and certain that he will get a far more interesting picture of Derek in costume now, all Stiles can say is, “Copasetic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the prompt of: "Stiles asks Derek to buy him a bottle of whiskey. Derek agrees, but Stiles doesn't end up going to the party he had intended to. Instead..." Not exactly what was asked for but kindasortamaybe.
> 
> If you like what you see, you can follow me [on tumblr here](http://misterkevo.tumblr.com) and [on twitter here](http://www.twitter.com/misterkevo). Sometimes I'm funny or insightful. Often both simultaneously. Plus I write other things you might enjoy! Whaaat! Like crazy, man.


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